A Moment of Clarity
by elitadream
Summary: Jack had always believed that doing the right thing was easy... Until he was faced with a choice, and hesitated. (A different take on the short "Hero".)
1. Of Vigilantes and Witnesses

Hello everyone! :)

As previously mentioned, this story is taking place during the cinematic short "Hero". I have kept the events accurate in the first chapter for a better immersion, but just to let you all know, it will quickly stray from there. I have wanted to tackle Jack's character for a long time, but could never seem to come up with a good enough setting to properly explore his mindset, so I just went back to the element that had triggered my interest in him to begin with and decided to see where I could go with it.

Please let me know what you think! And thanks a lot for reading!

** Rated T for mild cursing and descriptions of injuries.

All Overwatch characters belong to Blizzard **

.

* * *

.

Chapter 1: Of Vigilantes and Witnesses

.

Another day, same routine.

Those were the words Jack Morrison mentally told himself, sighing as he shouldered his rifle and glanced down from his vantage point with a tired sort of annoyance. Installed behind a roof's industrial ventilation system with the rest of his equipment, he scanned the roads below for a familiar sign of disturbance he knew would come his way sooner of later.

Behind him, the sun had begun to set, draping every surface in vibrant shades of gold and magenta. The air was warm, as it was midsummer, and the nearby trees rustled with a light breeze.

It was no surprise that his current area of operation happened to be a favorite destination for tourists. At this time of year, Dorado was a gem of natural flora, filled with all the exotic aromas of wild flowers and local foods. With its luxurious landscapes and colorful festivities, it certainly offered the prospect of a heavenly retreat for any vacationer... or so he had heard. It was a pity that he had no care whatsoever for any of those things. He might have otherwise been able to enjoy his stay at least a little.

His eyes fell on a couple crossing the intersection and he stilled out of instinct. The man was carrying a handful of packages, but a quick and experienced look was enough to confirm that they didn't contain anything dangerous.

No longer interested, Jack blinked and redirected his attention elsewhere.

What solely interested him was the kind of visitors -and trades, more specfically- it attracted. In that aspect, despite its environmental and architectural beauty, Dorado was sadly just like any other city. Criminals of the lowest kind could be found roaming in every dark crevice below the bright surface, supplying a black market that flourished and spread like weed.

Leaning back slightly, he tapped into his headset and accessed his visor's data bank, rereading the information he had gathered so far to pass the time.

His chosen target was a very prolific street gang which had begun making itself known more and more during the past year, mainly through various acts of vandalism and armed robbery.

Numerous news articles had also mentioned the fact that they called themselves _Los Muertos_... as though the amateurish name somehow made them more of a threat. Personally, Jack thought that they resembled ambulant toxic wastes more than anything with the fluorescent tattoos, but soon disregarded the thought with a disdainful grunt.

He honestly couldn't care less about their name. They would be dealt with the same way as always. And today wasn't going to be any different.

The nearby echoes of raucous laughter and resonating impacts broke the pleasant tranquility of the evening then, interrupting his thoughts. Rising from his spot, Jack did a brief checkup of his tactical gear before jumping stealthily to the next building. He was almost right above the source of the commotion.

"Hey, hey, Alej! Where'you goin' girl?"

"Um... no... nowhere."

He paused, tensing slightly as he identified one of the voices as undoubtedly juvenile.

"Ha, nowhere's right! Come on, you gotta' see this."

In a corner near a fountain, three punks were harassing an omnic. And there was a young girl with them.

"Here! Give him what he deserves!"

The android twitched and sparked, its body flashing with short circuits. The girl was handed a bat and urged towards it, but appeared reluctant to move. Jack growled under his breath and tightened his grip around the trigger when one of them lost patience and roughly pushed her.

Just as another guy took what looked like a small purse from her and started tossing it around, the deep rumbles of an engine were heard. Completely ignoring the girl's protests, they hurriedly embarked on the vehicle that had just rounded the corner and fled the scene, leaving her behind.

Satisfied with her lack of involvement, Jack cocked his weapon and promptly followed without looking back.

-o-

It had been nearly five minutes of uninterrupted sprint and leaps by now, but he hardly noticed. Whenever he was this focused, things like exertion and muscular fatigue barely registered. There was nothing but the task at hand, and it was often all he could think about until it was done.

Mapping out the truck's route as he went, he discovered that the group was headed straight towards a deposit where other gang members were already parked. His visor bleeped as it informed him of what he had stumbled upon. Illegal weapons, hidden drugs, stolen equipment... all in large quantities. They had led him right into their main trade post.

Unlike the criminals on the move, he didn't have to navigate through the narrow and encumbered streets, and got there first. He guessed it took them about five more minutes to finally catch up, but by then, he had already made himself useful.

It was only after knocking the third guy out that he finally heard and recognized the same ones from before, standing right outside the abandonned shop he was in.

He didn't waste any more time making his presence fully known. And from the moment he did, there was nothing but the unleashed heat of battle.

It had been clear very early on during his training that he was naturally gifted when it came to hand-to-hand combat. At the academy, he had surpassed many, and effortlessly so, even back when his approach hadn't yet been tainted by morally questionable practices. He knew survival, and knew how to fight. He reasoned that it was what he was made to do. It was all he had been doing since the fall of Overwatch, and all he had known for the past fifteen years.

No matter how many enemies there were or what type of artillery was used against him, he could handle himself just fine. It was probably the strongest advantage there was to being rogue. Not only was he incredibly efficient on his own, but he also had no one to worry about. Only his own back to watch, and luckily for him, he usually excelled at avoiding getting injured.

Pushing himself off the surface he had landed on after firing his final shots, he readjusted his grip on his trusty rifle and stoically walked towards the only thug who was still moving.

He was trying to crawl away.

Picking up a smoldering piñata off the ground, Jack made his warning, ramming the object into the guy's head with each syllable. He generally settled for a parting threat at this point, or sometimes a short interrogation when he felt like it. He was not much of a talker, but could get answers very quickly if he needed to. His favorite method only required the nose of his loaded gun to press against the defeated (and still very conscious) adversary's forehead. This never failed to obtain him information in no time. It had become somewhat of a pattern by now, and one that he carried out on almost every one of his regular mission.

...Only, as he was about to realize, this would not turn out to be a regular mission at all.

As Jack was about to continue with his aggression, no doubt with every intent to both let off steam and give the man on the ground a severe correction, a high-pitched yelp pierced the air, derailing his train of thought entirely.

Caught off-guard, he snapped his head up and froze at the sight that greeted him. Backing away from behind a wooden crate, and having seemingly appeared right out of nowhere, was the exact same girl from earlier. She stared back at him, crouched on the ground in sheer terror.

What the hell was she doing there?

"Get on the truck, let's go!"

Behind him, the gang members had regrouped and were attempting a hasty retreat.

Shaking out of his stupor, he got up and dashed after them, determined to finish this operation before dawn. He had been following their activities for days. There was no backing out now!

Part of him actually felt relieved that they were once again trying to leave. The more distance he could put between an armed fight and civilians, the better it would be. He was starting to feel confident in his capacities again despite the unexpected addition of a young witness.

Just as the reassuring thought crossed his mind, one of the thugs grabbed a grenade from the nearest crate and opened it.

"Eat this!" he shouted, and tossed it forward with a wicked laugh.

Normally, Jack would have deemed this a poor aim and even poorer choice of weapon. There was a good reason why he almost never used grenades, especially in close-range combat. During a fight, one could never predict how their own position would change from one second to the next, and because of this, they simply weren't reliable enough. Plus, the opposing side often had time to react way before they even detonated because of their activation beacon. They were clumsy, unpredictable and basically useless, except... for...

He ground to a halt and watched, in horror, as it whizzed past him and bounced in the dust, rolling to a stop less than a foot away from the girl.

 _...collateral damage._

 _Oh, no._

She screamed at the sight of the beeping shell and flailed in panic, but remained rooted on the spot; too scared to put proper distance between herself and certain death.

Jack took a helpless glance back at the criminals, who were cackling triumphantly as the driver sped off. They were getting away.

The impulse to stop them was so strong that it briefly overtook him and he jogged a few steps after them in frustration. If they regrouped and passed word about him, which was absolutely sure to happen if he didn't do something now, everything he had put in striking them with the element of surprise would go to waste. Who knew where they would hide this time. If could take him weeks to find them again.

No. He had to go after them, he had to-!

Another shriek resonated behind him, and with it an accelerated signal, alerting him that the grenade was just seconds away from exploding.

It was in this moment... This single, crucial moment that the blurred lines of his judgement finally sharpened and priorities abruptly came back into focus, jolting him where he stood like an electric shock. Seized by the sheer gravity of what was about to happen, he dropped his gun with a mortified gasp and rushed to save her.

The last thing he saw was the terrified look on the child's face before the blast hit and flames engulfed everything.


	2. At the Center of the Crater

.

Chapter 2: At the Center of the Crater

.

Jack wheezed, struggling to breathe.

The ringing in his ears was deafening. Wincing, he coughed and tightly shut his eyes. He was trying to regain his senses, but the noise made it almost impossible to think. Through the lingering smoke and veil of haziness blurring his vision, he caught a glimpse of the darkening sky above and realized that he was lying on his back.

He shifted slightly, testing his mobility. His limbs felt as heavy as lead, but were otherwise still responding. Steeling himself with a strained grimace, he took a deep breath and laboriously heaved himself into a crouch; his stiff joints painfully aching with the effort.

This was when he felt it.

Something warm and sticky, pooling beneath his jacket.

Doing his best to fight the nauseating wave of vertigo that suddenly assailed him, Jack supported himself against his braced knee and gingerly pressed a hand to the area.

When he retracted it, his glove was entirely smeared with crimson.

From one of the fingers, a single drop fell, forming a bright red dot on the dusty concrete below. He stared at it blankly for a couple of seconds, blinking drowsily.

Oh. So this was where the lightheadedness was coming from.

His gaze gradually lost its focus as he slowly but surely began slumping forward.

Flying debris... Hemorrhage...

With a trembling arm, he managed to catch his balance before he could tumble, channeling every ounce of his willpower into staying upright. He couldn't concentrate. Everything around him was spinning, the sensation threatening to bring him back down for good.

He would have run a self-diagnostic, but his visor had been shattered. There wasn't much it could have told him that he didn't already know, anyway; For even without a head gear to fully assess the wound, Jack could tell that he was gravely hit.

The disorientation. The persistent fatigue. The numbness...

He didn't have to be a field medic to recognize clear symptoms of hypovolemic shock when he saw them. And from what he could deduce at the moment, it was only a matter of time before he would fully succumb to exhaustion.

Minutes, at best.

He shook his head in an attempt to clear the thick fog still clouding his mind. There was something else... Something he was supposed to be doing right now. Something terribly important.

He was supposed to-... Had been _trying_ to-

His body went rigid as his memory resurfaced and a torrent of sickening dread flooded his veins.

 _ **The girl**._

Eyes wide, he whirled around, propelled by a burning rush of adrenaline. Cursing his impaired speed, he staggered to his feet and frantically scanned the alley, eventually spotting her small silhouette.

She was completely still.

His stomach churned with a violent stab of guilt as he limped his way towards her. Since when did he value a mission more than a life? Since when did he prioritize criminals over the innocent?...

This wasn't like him. He refused to believe the real him could have let something like this happen. To seriously contemplate letting a child _die_ for the sake of one damn operation... He had to think that this had only been a mistake, a one time slip caused by a distraction and nothing else. He _had_ to, or he felt as though his sanity would crumble.

The Morrison he once was... this heroic and upstanding man fighting for goodness and justice had maybe died a long time ago... But Jack was still haunted by his ghost to this day. He remembered how hopeful, how righteous and honorable he had once been. What would his younger self think of him now?

And what would the others?...

Mercy's face flashed briefly before his eyes. Whenever he thought about her, she was usually radiant and aglow in the morning light, at a time of happiness and peace back during the golden days... But what he pictured now were her delicate features contorted with disapproval and horror as she backed away from him, looking confused and betrayed.

 _I'm sorry, Angela_ , he thought bitterly. _I swear I wanted to be better than this_.

He heavily dropped beside the young girl, his charred tactical suit still fuming where dying embers had burnt multiple holes in the fabric. Taking hold of her shoulder, he turned her softly so that she was now facing him. Her eyes were closed, and she remained completely unresponsive at his touch.

She was thankfully still breathing, although this brought little comfort in regards to her overall state. As Jack inspected her for external injuries, mentally listing down what he found, his alarm grew. The skin on both her bare arms and ankles sported burn marks and one of her feet was twisted at an odd angle, but what worried him the most was the large bump and patch of blood he felt on the back of her head.

Swiftly removing his mask, he tore one of his gloves away with his teeth and pressed two fingers on her neck. Her pulse was there, but it was very faint.

He scowled, setting his jaw.

 _Shit._

Pawing hastily at his belt, he reached the small pouch attached to it and took out a small capsule. It was an invention created by the Doctor Ziegler to slow down bleeding and reinforce the body's regenerative system. It had often proven to be a blessing, saving many in dire situations on the battlefield; including even himself at some point. Unfortunately, though, very few had been manufactured before the shutdown. Jack had but one or two left that he had kept preciously, and only reserved for emergencies.

Removing the syringue of glowing blue liquid it contained, he carefully lifted the girl's arm and injected her with the solution. He then removed his jacket, sloppily folded it into a bundle, and with all the gentleness he could muster, placed it under her head as a makeshift pillow.

...He didn't know what else to do.

He couldn't carry her. The tension was gone, having taken away what little strength was left in his body. He was utterly drained.

He swayed as he straightened, taking a stumbling step backwards. A full trail of blood now trickled down his waist, soaking through his pant leg and steadily spreading further.

What now?...

He had no means of communications at his immediate disposal and was quickly bleeding out. His best options at this point were to either wait for the authorities to arrive or try to find a refuge.

He huffed scornfully, squaring his shoulders. He would be damned if he ever let himself be arrested and sent for trial after all he had done to cover his tracks... but then again, hopes of finding a proper shelter in his current situation were slim to nonexistent. And what more, where could he hope to go? He could hardly stand.

As if on cue, his left leg suddenly gave beneath his weight and he lost his balance, panting as he sagged weakly against the wall behind him. Giving up, he further pressed his back to it and let himself slide down to the ground.

It seemed as though his past was about to finally catch up to him after all.

A grim smile appeared on his scarred face and his eyes filled with an oddly calm sense of fatality as he considered the severity of his predicament.

 _...Unless I die here_.

It was certainly an option, if not the likeliest of outcomes. Odds of survival were definitely not in his favor, after all, and having always been a realist more than an optimist, Jack preferred to face things as they were instead of contemplating futile daydreams.

No one was coming. There was no backup, no rescue team.

He was on his own... just as he had chosen to be.

His defiant expression morphed into one of regret and shame as his eyes lingered on the motionless child.

He had done this. He had chosen this reckless path with full willingness and had ignored fundamental protocol countless times, regardless of the consequences. There had been no mistakes, no misunderstandings whatsoever in his intentions. He had gone out of his way to make some people pay. It had been his main motivation, the one thing at the forefront of his mind for years. All this, and for what?... He knew he was guilty. There was no denying it.

But for those to be his last moments... For him to have lived mostly for vengeance, then died protecting a life... It seemed fitting enough. Not as an act of self redemption, but one of personal duty as a former protector of humankind. An acceptable ending for someone like him.

He nodded solemnly to himself.

As long as the girl lived. It was all that mattered.

"Is anybody out there?"

A voice. Footsteps.

Jack partially lifted an eyebrow in mild curiosity, not bothering to turn his head towards the source of the interruption. He was too tired to even achieve a full reaction at this point.

Listlessly, he spared a glance at the broken visor left forgotten mere feet away and closed his eyes with a resigned sigh. In any other circumstance, he would have done literally anything in his power to guard his secret identity, but right now, he couldn't bring himself to care.

A bright ray of light fell on him and he heard a gasp a few meters away.

"Oh my God..." There was a metallic clatter as the flashlight was dropped and someone rushed over to him.

"Sir! Can you hear me?"

He tried to reopen his eyes, but they were unbelievably reluctant to obey. Every parcel of his body was craving rest, fiercely determined to drag him into deep slumber. And for the life of him, he couldn't remember why it had seemed like such a bad idea before. Sleep was all he wanted to do right now.

He heard what he thought was a series of hurried instructions accompanied by a second voice, but he couldn't be sure. Everything was so fuzzy, he had a hard time distinguishing what was real from what wasn't, and an even harder time paying any attention to it all.

"Help is on the way. Stay alert."

They might as well have asked him to teleport to the moon and back. Jack feebly shook his head with the shadow of a smile, vaguely wondering whether or not he was randomly hallucinating this individual altogether.

But he wasn't going to take any chances.

With his last remaining shred of energy, he gripped the person's arm before they could step away and cracked his eyes open, a hint of desperation gleaming in his ocean blue irises.

"Please... Tend to her first," he begged in a barely audible murmur. As soon as he uttered those words, his body finally went slack and he collapsed.


	3. A Helping Hand

.

Chapter 3: A Helping Hand

.

The first thing Jack became aware of as he stirred and groggily opened his eyes was that he was sore all over.

His back, his arms, his legs... everything hurt. His whole body felt like one throbbing nerve, thumping in rhythm with the nasty pressure between his temples. It was as if he had been run over by a tank and beaten to a pulp.

Blinded by the brightness of his surroundings, he brought a hand in front of his face and let out an annoyed grunt, turning on his side. He instantly regretted it, however, as the motion caused a sudden burst of intense pain to shoot through his torso and he barely repressed a shout, gritting his teeth in agony.

It had to be one of the least pleasant awakenings he had ever experienced, and considering that he was a fifty-eight years old veteran, that was saying something. It was-

Wait.

 _I'm alive_ , he suddenly thought to himself, absurdly stunned by this notion.

The realization was in itself arguably more jarring than anything else, and he had to take a moment to fully accept it as a fact.

Once his vision adjusted to the ambient light, he looked around and saw that he was lying on a bed, in what he could only assume was a hospital room...

But how was that possible?

Squinting in confusion, he sat up and rubbed his eyes, feeling the tug of an intravenous tube in the inner bend of his elbow.

"Easy, now."

The two words broke the silence of his surroundings like a crystal bubble, making him jump. Jerking away, he reflexively tensed up and balled his fists in anticipation, but paused as a vague impression of deja vu washed over him. He didn't have to wait long before a person came into view, and he took the time to fully observe them. His interlocutor was a middle-aged woman, dark-skinned with brown eyes. Her black hair was tied in a loose ponytail and she wore a white medical coat.

She also had a slight local accent.

"Your body is still healing." She pointedly designated his chest with a tilt of her head, and looking down, Jack noticed for the first time that it was wrapped in thick bandages. Absentmindedly, he brushed a hand over his rib cage, still feeling the sting in his left side.

Huh. Looked like his old carcass somehow still held up.

"My name is Sofia Verez. It is good to finally see you awake."

She walked up to the bed and offered him a glass of water, but he didn't move. Despite his burning throat, he instead eyed the clear liquid suspiciously, giving her a guarded look. He had the very distinct feeling that the place he had ended up in was no ordinary health establishment, and his intuition was further solidified when he finally recognized where he had heard her voice before.

"It was you who found me in the alley," he stated, somewhat hoarsely.

The woman perked up in interest at his brisk comment, as though not having expected him to speak at all.

"Yes. I was not sure how much you would be able to remember, but this is a very good sign!"

She didn't appear fazed in the least by his hostile mood. He watched her closely as she took out a tablet and enthusiastically began taking notes. He was swarming with questions and practically oozing with distrust, but he figured that whoever she was, if she had wanted to hurt him, she probably would have done so already.

"This must be very disconcerting for you. I apologize for the discomfort, but we mean you no harm. You are safe within these walls."

Her tone was gentle, almost motherly, and Jack felt himself imperceptibly relax in her presence. He obstinately refused to take the cup she held in her hand, however, so she put it beside his bed for him to drink later.

"...How are you feeling?" She asked.

"Don't mind me," he retorted gruffly, waving a dismissive hand. "Where have you taken her?"

He had just noticed that the girl was nowhere to be seen, and as always, the surge of concern he instantly felt expressed itself in the only manner he was used to: through impatience and anger.

Far from threatened, she stared at him openly, like one would while witnessing something truly fascinating, then typed another series of observations on the digital pad she was carrying.

"...I said, _where_?"

Even Jack knew that it wasn't wise to press his luck and make demands when in such a vulnerable position, but he couldn't help it. He was lethargic, helpless, sick with worry, had no idea where he was and he felt like his query was being flat out ignored.

It was basically everything he hated put together.

Fortunately, she looked back at him before he could employ a less than polite language to get her attention.

"Somewhere safe," she assured simply.

It was said just as kindly as everything else, but a detail had changed. She was no longer smiling.

Now apprehensive, Jack waited for the woman to elaborate, but she didn't.

"...How is she?" He finally dared ask.

A crease appeared on her forehead, and for a heart-stopping moment, he feared the worst... But then, her expression eased into one of caring optimism.

"She was treated in the room right across from yours. The psychological trauma she has sustained was rather severe at first, but rapidly dimished during the first week. All in all?... She is doing very well; Thanks to you."

He hung his head and released the breath he had been holding, shakily running a hand through his hair.

She was alright... She was _alright_.

As he had expected, the consoling news didn't alleviate his conscience in the slightest, however. Despite feeling immense relief, he was still choked by remorse over his own actions; revolted and petrified by what he had allowed to happen.

He couldn't keep pretending that he was in control. Not after this. He wasn't sure he even knew who he was anymore. A soldier?... A mercenary?... He wished he hadn't let himself become this absorbed by his desire for revenge. He wished things hadn't turned out this way.

But more than anything, he wished he could tell the girl that he was sorry.

 _Thanks to me?_...

The irony was astounding. This was all his fault!

"You saved her life."

He sharply looked at the woman again. Her eyes shimmered with a warmth he had not seen in what felt like an eternity, and upon identifying what it was, he began to feel sick.

It was admiration.

"You don't understand," He scolded, his temper flaring again as he pointed an accusing finger at her. "You weren't there. You have _no_ idea!"

"But we-"

" _Stop_ saying things that aren't true!"

He was furious now, and she easily sensed it. Her jaw twitched and she pushed her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose, looking away briefly. She seemed to be contemplating what to say next, and for the first time since they were face to face, her features became slightly stern.

"Then please enlighten me," she readily answered.

" _Fine_!" He barked. "You wanna' know what really happened?... I could've gotten to her much sooner, but I _didn't_! There were criminals out there, and I was too damn stubborn to drop pursuit right away. There was a grenade in front of her, and I almost **_walked away_**! I almost let her **_DIE_**!"

She pursed her lips and frowned at his outburst, but to her credits, she didn't flinch. And to be honest, Jack was rather taken aback by how serenely she took it in. He had always been in familiar territory when it came to Gabriel's enraged shouts or McCree's patronizing insults during arguments, but had never been able to properly seize reactions like Ana's, Gengi's or...

Angela's.

The calm ones. Those who held back a storm instead of lashing out with volume and threat.

He growled and scratched the back of his neck in equal parts irritation and embarrassment. Most of his explosive ire had already started to evaporate, and it left him feeling impulsive and unfair.

He would gladly admit that he had a problem. He would admit that he didn't know how to fix it and that he felt more and more at a loss of what to do with his own self as time went by. He would admit all of this to anyone who wanted to hear it and then some.

...But he would never admit that it scared the hell out of him.

"Alright," she said evenly after a moment. "Here is what _I_ know: when we found you, you had lost more than forty percent of the amount of blood in your body. A piece of metal had sliced through your side and pierced your stomach, narrowly avoiding your left lung. Three of your ribs were broken, you had a dislocated knee and your back had almost been burnt to the third degree. The girl, by comparison, only suffered a mild concussion and a sprained ankle with minor burns. From this, I assumed with a fair degree of certainty that you had purposefully shielded her from the explosion. Am I correct?"

Jack shrugged despondently, ashamed. "I tried to reach her, but the force of the blow broke my hold on her and we landed apart."

"Well," she replied, arching an eyebrow, "if you had not done what you did, she would have been killed instantly. The fact that you were not can only be attributed to your enhanced metabolism and protecting gear, but even still... It is a miracle that you survived. Even more so without any permanent damage or observable after effect."

She hummed, shaking her head incredulously. "What came to our attention as most astonishing, however, was that we found a full quantity of serum in her system. The young girl was knocked unconscious and somewhat injured, but was otherwise already in a stable condition. She would have been kept within surveillance for two weeks at most, but with what you gave her, she had fully healed and was back on her feet within only a day."

"And... how long was I here?"

She scrutinized his face before answering. Her gaze was as sharp as a scalpel.

"You were almost pronounced clinically dead when we rushed you in for surgery. We had to keep you sedated at all times at first. It has been a little over five weeks and a half since then."

Jack could only stare mutely back, reeling as he absorbed the information.

That long?...

Turning away, the woman reached for a panel on the wall and dimmed the lights, lingering at the door for a short while.

"You are right," she told him softly. "I do not understand... how you can have so much hatred for yourself and still persevere after all this time. But despite what you persist to believe, there is still good in you... And you have not changed nearly as much as you think, Mister Morrison."

Jack recoiled in a mix of bewilderment and dismay, but before he could form a coherent response, she exited the room, leaving him alone with his own thoughts.


End file.
